The Wave

Story in progress, looking to turn it into a romance/tragedy. Looking to challenge myself with a longer story.

  

                The Wave.  That’s what we called it in my family. The Wave of death, of tragedy, of sadness, of sickness. The Wave. First it was my uncle, who passed away due to a brain tumor. He went quietly, fortunately for him, with his wife Kat, his son Spencer, and parents at his side while the Hospis Nurse checked on him. Closed his eyes and he was gone.

                Then Caroline.  My cousin, 14 years old, had ‘complications’ during open heart surgery.  She went in thinking she was getting a new heart, and she never came out. They sewed her up just for the funeral, but it was unbearable to look at her casket, much less her body.

                Then Chad.  Oh, Chad.  Six years old. Just six.  Car accident. Drunk driver lost control of his car and nailed Chad and his mother Kelly to a tree.  Chad’s heart stopped before the medic could even remove the debris from on top of him. Chad’s funeral was beautiful. When he was four, he insisted that when he got old like grandpa, he didn’t want his funeral to be ‘dark and gloomy,’ he specifically asked for blue. Sky blue. At a funeral. Did we make his funeral sky blue? Damn right. Everything was blue. The ceiling, the coffin, even the flowers were dyed blue. It was amazing, but it did not change the fact that he was gone.

                The Wave.  For a while, no one said anything about the Wave.  After Chad passed, everything just kind of, stopped.  No one died, no funerals, no nothing. No one called each other, no one said anything at all.

                Three A.M. on Friday morning, my phone rings. 

                “Hello?” I said, my eyes droopy and watering.

                “Lauren?” a tired voice whined at the other end.

                “It’s me Aunt Kat, what’s up?”

                “It’s Spencer, he won’t stop crying. He said he wants to see Cousin Lauren, and I told we should wait until the weekend but he won’t have it. He won’t stop screaming and the neighbors keep calling the police. Can you come over?”

                Oh brother. “Aunt Kat, as much as I would love to, you live in Salida, I live in Colorado Springs and I have school today,” I protested, “and it’s three in the morning.”

                “Please?”

                “Aunt Kat, I--,”

                “Lauren I have been up for 23 hours and I have the police constantly knocking on my door, asking if I’m an abusive parent. Can you please just take one day to come see him? You know I wouldn’t call you if this weren’t a dire emergency.”

                “I’ll see if mom and dad can take me, but I’m not making any promises.” Mom was going to kill me.

                “What should I tell Spencer?” she said with a crafty hope.

                “Tell him I’ll most likely see him soon,” I was half asleep and 100% positive that I was slurring my words.

                “Thank you! You’re a life saver!”

                “Remember, no guarantee,” I said but she’d already hung up. Great, now what.

               

 

                Mom couldn’t take me and dad was already gone, so I had to freaking Uber to Salida. As in call an Uber and pay an astronomical price for someone to drive me to Kat’s house at five in the morning, on Friday, when I was supposed to be at school. Not a great start to the day.

                “So, what are you doing at this time of the day?” The driver’s voice shocked me out of the depths of my thoughts.

                “Family stuff,” I responded, thinking about how long it would take to tell him the whole story.

                “With all due respect, what kinda family pulls you out of school on Friday at 5 A.M.?” He questioned. For the first time, I noticed his East Coast accent, his shaggy black hair and young face.

                “My family,” I said flatly, then thought about how rude I must seem. “I’m sorry, I’m a little tired, not really myself.”

                “No problem, trust me I completely understand,” the driver didn’t lose any enthusiasm.

                “What’s your name?” I tried some small talk.

                “Harland, Harland Reynolds. And you, Miss?”

                “Please, don’t call me ‘miss’,” I chuckled. “I’m Lauren.”

                The driver�"Harland�"turned around to look at me, then pivoted back the view of the road.

                “Pretty name. Suits you.” Harland said.

                “Thanks,” I said, unsure of how to reply.  “What made you become an Uber driver?”

                “My father.”

                “What kind of dad forces you into this job?”

                “My father.” I noticed scratches, up and down his arms, and a faded scar trailing his toned neck. Bruises, down the legs that were wearing shorts, and scars from broken bones where his toes were.

                “Did you get in a fight?”

                “Excuse me?” he said, obviously confused.

                “You’re hurt, who did all that stuff to you?”

                “My father.” The dark tone in his voice alarmed me, and neither of us said anything after that, all during the 4 hour journey to Salida.

 

 

 

                When we finally reached Aunt Kat’s house, the awkward silence that had fallen between Harland and I had to be lifted. “Harland, if you ever need help with, your, uh…”

                “Father?”

                “Yeah, that, then um, just call me. Ok?” I scribbled my phone number down on a sticky note and stuck it to the dash on the passenger side.

                “Ok,” he grinned with a sort of creepy, yet intriguing half smile that drew me closer.

                “Goodbye Harland,” I said, returning the half grin.           

                “Bye Lauren.” He said, then closed the door and rolled away.

                “Lauren!” Spencer’s little voice hiccupped behind me, his little voice was the sound I lived for.

                “Spency!” His little nick name, something that I also lived for. He couldn’t say Spencer when he was small, so he called himself ‘Spency.’

                Cutest thing in the world.

                He jumped on me, and wrapped his little arms around me like his life depended on it. I could see that some of the chocolate brown tufts of hair were matted to his face, from tears and screaming. His blue eyes were still a little bloodshot, but he had probably settled down for the most part. Six years old, and he was already damaged.

                “Spencer!” the deep voice of his stepfather boomed down the short driveway, and his big head popped out of the glass front door. “Get in here!”

                Spencer turned his head to look at his stepfather, Bryan. Then I noticed the marks on his neck. Finger shaped bruises. Someone had grabbed Spencer by the neck, hard.  Bryan.

                “Can I stay with Lauren?” Spencer was starting to whimper, ready to cry. His stepfather was about to make him go back inside. “Please?”

                “I swear to God you little…” Bryan started stomping his big feet down the cement, storming to greet Spencer. I held onto him. Bryan pulled Spencer’s arm, harder than he should have.

                “Ow!” Spencer screamed.

                “Stop yelling stupid!” Bryan scolded.  He reached for Spencer, for Spencer’s neck, exactly where the marks were.

                “I swear, Bryan, if you so much as touch a hair on his head I will break your arm.” My tone was dark, intimidating, and it shocked Bryan.

                “You think I’ll back down to you?” he got close to me, and his breath smelt of beer and scotch.

                “I have 911 on speed dial dumbass, and my father is on the SWAT team.”

                He flung his arm at Spencer, and I spun around, dropped Spencer and told him to run down the block and around the corner, where I’d meet him at the bus stop.

                Then it was Bryan’s turn.

                He looked at me, sized me up.  I looked at him. And laughed. He sounds intimidating, but he’s 5’9” and skinner than a twig. Not that powerful. But he sure as hell was abusive, and he sure as hell was drunk out of his mind. I hated him, with every living cell in my body. The hatred oozed out of every single pore, radiated around me like a fireball. And I punched him. Socked him right in the jaw. Oh, it felt so good.

                “Umph!” That time, it was me. Bryan managed to grip my fist as it dropped from his face, and twisted it faster than I could think.

                “Come on kid, you’re twelve.” He said, panting.

                “Good observation. I’m glad you’ve taken such a huge academic step.” I ripped my throbbing hand away from his tight grasp, and immediately dove for his brittle legs. That was Bryan’s weak spot. His legs could not withstand any amount of force. As soon as my shoulders made contact with his shins, he toppled backwards and landed face up, on the ground, knocked out cold.

                As soon as I recognized my opportunity, I darted to where Spencer and I had agreed to meet. He was sitting on the sidewalk, playing with the ants. I took him home, and locked Bryan out of the house while he was still passed out.

 

                Spencer and I played a board game or so, used his Legos, and played a short game of catch.  I’d always loved their house, even though some people thought it was too old for Spencer’s “young” family.  Sure, the boards were creaky, but I remember Spencer’s adorable little toddler feet pit-patting across those boards, giggling and laughing, so innocent and untouched. Maybe the real, wood-burning fire-place was a hazard, but I cannot tell you how many times Spencer, the family and I gathered around it on chilly Christmas Eve’s with our hot chocolate and s’mores. It was a place that even I could call home, and Spencer had never known anything else.  This was the house he had lived in for all his life. The house that he went through so many things in. The house that I sat in with him to help him with some ball games with him when all he wanted was his daddy. This was the house for both Spencer and I. And that would never change.

                It had only been about 30 minutes or so before we heard banging on the door and loud bellows of frustration coming from the front door. I rolled my eyes and said, “Spencer, you stay here. Don’t you dare do anything he tells you. Stay here and wait for me to get back ok?”

                “Okay,” Spencer’s little voice squeaked flatly. He was used to this, used to people telling him not to associate with his hellish father. Stepfather, I mean. And the poor kid was only six.

                As I trudged up the stairs, the shouting grew louder until it was about to blow my freaking eardrums out.

                “Let me in right now or I will�"Lauren!” he said as soon as my head popped into sight. “Lauren, come on, let your ol’ pal in, won’t you?”

                “No.” I stared at him with an unreadable expression.

                “Excuse me? I said�",”

                “I know what you said Bryan. And I said no. And I’m not your ‘ol’ pal’.” I said, growing more irritated just by looking at his gooney face.

                “Well I don’t approve of your response, so change it.”

                “See here Bryan, I really don’t care if you approve of my response or not, because to be honest, I really don’t care about you.” He was so easy to pick on, and I couldn’t help myself.

                “That’s it, I’m calling the cops, because you won’t let me into my house!” he screamed like an angry toddler that got his toy taken away. Aw, poor Bryan. He patted the pockets of his filthy beer stained shorts, trying to find his cell phone. When he didn’t feel it, he started reaching in his pockets. When he still didn’t find his freaking pre-historic flip-phone, he started looking around himself, at the ground, at the car, at the freaking tree in the center of the yard. He became frantic, and then the realization dawned on him.

                “Ha-ha, very funny, now give it back.” He told me, as though he actually expected me to return it.  

                I laughed, “Bryan, I’m no moron. I wouldn’t give it back to you with a gun at my head.”

                “No one said you were a moron kid, because I know you’re smart. You already proved that. I just asked your little ten pound brain to give me back my cell phone,” He said in a low, edgy voice.

                “Yeah, compliments don’t work on me, but I’ll give you credit for the ‘ten pound brain’ comment. Real creative,” I said as I turned to walk down the stairs to get Spencer.

                “Fine, if you won’t let me in, I’ll break in,” he said, as though he was talking himself into it.

                “Remember that security system you put in a while back? I changed the code on it. Oops,” I said, laughing to myself at how easy it was to change the code and keep him out.

                “Ugh! Is there anything you haven’t done to stick me out here for the day?”

                “No, because I hate you and I don’t appreciate the way you treat Spencer. So yes, I did everything humanly possible to keep you out of the house. Get it?”

                “Fine.”

                “Good. I’m glad we have a mutual understanding.” I watched him as he walked down the porch steps and down the driveway. He sat on the curb and stared across the street. He picked up one of the many empty beer bottles that littered the ground outside his house and launched it across the street with a rage so hot is could burn the neighborhood down. The bottle disappeared behind a bush, but I heard the faint shatter of glass when it made contact with the cracked pavement. Well, that takes care of that, I thought to myself. Now all I had to worry about Kat letting him in when she got home from her day shift at the hospital. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, I coached myself as I thumped back down the stairs toward Spencer and his Legos.

                Spencer was laying down, amid hundreds of scattered Legos and on top of a green and blue blanket, his favorite one. I walked around him to see his face, sleeping. Poor kid. His dad dies and then he gets to listen to his cousin fight with his stupid stepdad. Absolutely unfair. I thought about stuff for a little while, about Spencer, about Bryan and Kat, about me. Finally I got sick of thinking entirely and resided to watching Spencer sleep.  He seemed so peaceful, so quiet and untouched, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something going on behind the scenes. A bad dream, a scary thought. Maybe I wasn’t the only one worrying about us. There you go again, thinking, my mind said. I know, I can’t help it, I responded to my conscience. Sleep, the little voice told me, sleep. I laid down alongside Spencer, and before I knew it my eyes were drifting shut and my thoughts were disappearing, one by one by one until my exhausted mind was submerged in slumber.

               

 

                Tap-tap. Tap-tap. The sound of Aunt Kat’s shoes tip tapping across the tiled floor tugged me awake.  I opened my eyes slowly, and suddenly Aunt Kat was there, right in front of my face. Her face, mere inches from my own, startled me.

                “Where’s Bryan?” Kat questioned.

                “Outside,” I mumbled, wondering what time it was.

                “No he’s not,” she retorted.

                “Why do you care about Bryan?” I asked, with a polite tone.

                “Tell me where Bryan is, right now!” she screamed, red faced and seemingly furious.

                “Why do you care?” I yelled right back.

                “You do not get to speak to me like�",”

                “I do get to speak to you like this, especially when that dirty rotten man you call ‘hubby’ is hurting Spencer!” I was sick of putting up with Bryan, and even more sick of letting Kat treat him like a King. “Bryan is outside,” I said, anger still rippling on the edges of my voice, “because I kicked him out for treating Spencer like garbage.”

                “He treats Spencer like he’s a block of solid gold, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She lied.

                “You know.”

                “What?”

                “You know exactly what’s going on, and you aren’t doing anything to stop it,” I said as I figured it all out.

                “Lauren,” she said as though she were going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. “Bryan would sometimes get a temper and�",”

                “God damn it, you knew!” I screamed. “Guess what Kat, this is done. I’m calling the police and this whole damn thing is getting shut down. Spencer is coming with me, and you can find Bryan for yourself. Good luck,” I said, reaching down to wake Spencer.

                “You know you can’t do that, you could get arrested for kidnapping,” Kat argued.

                “If you want to sue me, I won’t stop you. But you can bet your a*s that the court will know that I was doing everything necessary to protect him, not hurt him.”

                “The difference between you and me is how we handle situations. I do it well, but you--,” Kat tried to protest.

                “The difference between you and me is I can see things for what they really are, and you can’t.” With that, Spencer and I walked out to the sidewalk and I called the Uber.

 

                On the drive home, both Spencer and I stayed silent.  The driver attempted to make small talk, but the conversation would vanish just as quickly as it had begun.

                Finally, we reached my house, and mom had not come home from work yet, which was a good sign.  I still had not thought about a way to tell her what happened.  She was always defensive of her sister and of Bryan. If I told her, it might make her mad at me, and given the day that I’d had, I didn’t want any more confrontation.

                I was exhausted, but I knew I now had school work to catch up on.  I told Spencer he could play outside or in the basement, and to tell me where he was at all times.  He left my room to go to the basement, and I started making progress on the emails I needed to send to my teachers. Some of them had websites with calendars, but some were older and grew too frustrated with technology to even try.

                I was in the middle of emailing my Bio-chemistry teacher when a notification popped up in the corner of the screen.  Email From Cole Norris, it read.  I clicked on it, curious to see what he’d emailed me. Cole was a junior in high school, and I was only a sophomore.  We were the same age, despite the difference in grade level, because Cole was a year ahead of his age group in school.  I always teased him for having a big head, because it was true. We had started dating in the beginning of the year, and it was now halfway through second semester.  Both of us agreed that we didn’t want anything to move too quickly, but we wanted a relationship that was long lasting, with mutual respect.

                Cole never emailed me, it was always texts or Snapchats. He always made fun of me for being a writer, composing long stories about “deep stuff,” and he sometimes referred to my writing as “mushy,” and “lovey dovey.”  The email opened after a couple suspenseful seconds of waiting and there was a Google Docs attachment.  I was about to click the attachment when the email message itself caught my eye.

                “I don’t usually write, but I just felt like putting my emotions onto a page. Tell me if it sucks. Love you lots, Cole.”

                Huh, I thought. His emotions? What is he emotional about? I opened the attachment, curious and a little confused. I read the story, and my jaw dropped to the floor when I had finished.

 

~

 

                I did not know how to even respond to Cole’s email.  He poured his heart and soul into that document, and every piece of it was beautifully written, edited skillfully and revised with a wise eye.  Had he taken classes? Had he read my stories? When did this wave of author talent wash over him? The story described elements of his past that he had never mentioned to me, elements that were so brutal I wondered if they were even real. If the story was entirely true, there were parts of Cole that were more hurt than anything I had known of.

                Since I didn’t know what feedback to even give Cole, or how to even start, I texted him, “Meet me at Tilly’s. 10 minutes. See you there.” Tilly was this cute, middle aged woman that owned a coffee shop and bakery, called Tilly’s Treats. It was our “place,” Cole and I would talk, eat, study, you name it, we did it at Tilly’s. This seemed like a matter to be discussed in person, and it was sure as hell going to be over a coffee and donut.

                I heard the garage door open; mom was home. I was not in the mood to tell her what happened, nor did I have the time, so when she walked in the door I was waiting with my purse and car keys.

                “Can you please watch Spencer for a little while?”

                “Wait, why is he�",”

                “Look, I’ll explain later, but right now I really need to go meet Cole.”

                “Where are you guys going?” Mom said, completely forgetting about Spencer.

                “Tilly’s.”

                “How long?”

                “45 minutes. Maybe more.” Mom was always worried about me and Cole. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, she treated him like a son. She was just still adjusting to me being in a ‘romantic relationship.’

                “Ok. See you when you get home. You said you’ll explain later right?” she said, gesturing to Spence, who had just walked in from our backyard. He was covered in dirt and mud, but grinning from ear to ear.

                “Yes, I will.” I answered mom. “Spencer, I’ll be back soon okay? You and me will tell Auntie Shay what’s going on when I get back, and only then, okay?”
                “Okay,” he said, his grin fading to a small smile. “Bye bye. I love you,” he said drawing a heart in the air with his little grubby fingers.

                “Love you too Spence,” I said, pinching his rosy little cheeks. “Bye.” And with that, I hopped in the car and drove to Tilly’s.

 

 

                

Author's Note

If you took the time to read this entire story, let me just give you a huge THANK YOU! If it isn't too much trouble, I would like some 'constructive criticism' or maybe some ideas that you have to make the story more interesting and how I can turn it into a longer story with an interesting plot and end. Or even just in general, how can I improve my writing? Word choice? Plot line? I am totally willing to take any suggestions and feedback into consideration. Again, if you took the time to read the story and on top of that give me feedback, thank you so much, I really appreciate your huge efforts.